


Imperative

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU-First Meeting, Cuddling, Dancing At The Club, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Need, One Night Stand, Sherlock Gets Confused, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one night stand between two strangers satisfies one need but creates another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock's Need Gets Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Biological imperative. That's all it was. Sherlock, though he was often accused of not being human, was. It was simple. An urge. Something natural, something he couldn't change.

That, of course, didn't mean that he couldn't control it. He had no desire to actually reproduce: he knew there were already too many children in the world and besides he was aware that he was not adult enough to raise a child. He didn't like thinking about why that was, but he couldn't deny it.

And anyway, he wasn't attracted to women.

It was men he thought of when he tried to solve the urge himself. Not men he knew, just men, men's bodies actually. It wasn't about who, it was about what. What he needed.

But Sherlock had been masturbating everyday for the last week and it hadn't helped. Obviously it wasn't doing the trick, but he didn't have the energy to analyse it; perhaps he didn't want to learn the truth that sometimes a human needed another human. That contradicted so much of what he'd been taught, what he believed, what he was convinced was right.

He glanced at the clock. It was midnight. He went into his bedroom and got ready and then headed out to the bar down the street.

It'd been a while since John had had sex. He had just started a new job and with getting all of that settled, he'd been a bit distracted. And he missed it. So here he was at the bar, looking around for a potential partner as he sipped on his drink. He just needed one night to get him through this first week. Once he had a regular schedule, he could go back to just dating normally. But now . . .well, he needed this now. 

Sherlock had taken a place leaning against a pillar where he was able to see both the bar and the dance floor. He was looking around, he was searching -- in a way that actually made him feel a bit gross because it was so . . . he couldn't quite put the word on it but it just made him feel uncomfortable, being forced to give in to a physical need. He took pride in conquering those, being above them. But that hadn't worked and he was tired of it being on his mind. He needed to have sex and here he was looking for someone to meet that need. Pathetic in some ways, but he just wanted to get it over with. 

A man near the bar caught his eye. Handsome, a bit older than Sherlock. He tried to read him but the movement of the others there made it difficult. Still, he had caught Sherlock's eye for some reason. Sherlock tried to move closer until he could see him more clearly. Mainly he was trying to see if this guy appeared needy or 'looking for love': he did not. God, why were there so many people here tonight? He got to the bar, but despite Sherlock's watchful eye, the man hadn't noticed him. Sherlock reached into his pocket and took out one of his cards. On the back of it, he wrote 'Dance?' and stretched his arm to slide it down the bar. He felt the man take it from his fingers and looked up, waiting.

John took his time examining the card. Sherlock. That was an interesting name. And a consulting detective? He had no idea what that was but really he didn't care. He looked up, and his breath caught a bit. He was handsome -- more than handsome. He was very sexy. And he wanted to dance with John. John slipped the card into his pocket and finished his drink before nodding. He took Sherlock's hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, smiling as he turned to face him. He started to dance against him, holding his hips and moving their bodies together. 

Sherlock followed. The man didn't talk, which Sherlock thought was a good sign. It was strange -- this urge was clearly some kind of natural instinct and therefore his natural instinct had chosen wisely. Interesting. But this was probably not the time to analyse that. The handsome man was moving his body against Sherlock's. Sherlock needed to turn off his brain and let his body deal with this.

He moved his hands to the man's lower back and pressed slightly. He was quite a bit taller than this guy so he had to dip his head a little, but he put his mouth next to the guy's ear while he inhaled the scent of his hair, which was clean but not soapy. Sherlock thought about the man's hands on his hips, about the way the man pushed against him. These things were definitely doing the trick.

John tilted his head so that his mouth was by Sherlock's ear. "You're very sexy," he murmured. He pulled Sherlock's hips, forcing them together harder.

"As are you," Sherlock said in return. He could feel his cock twitching already. "Would you like to come back to mine?" He moved his hands a little lower on the man's body.

John smiled and nipped at his earlobe before nodding. "Yes, I would," he breathed.

Sherlock pulled John through the crowd and they walked back to the flat without speaking. Once inside, Sherlock turned and slid his arms around the man and pushed him back against the door. He moved his mouth to his neck and sucked the skin into his mouth. He pressed his hips into him. "Touch me," he moaned softly. 

Taking him literally, John pushed a hand between them and palmed hard at Sherlock's cock. He was already so hard and wanting -- it was lovely. His other hand moved up his torso, touching his stomach and chest as he wrapped his arm around Sherlock's neck and buried his hand into his hair. "Well I didn't come here just to look," he said, grinning as his hand worked Sherlock's cock through the fabric.

Sherlock slid his hands to the front of them and he undid his own belt and trousers, opening them and sliding one of the man's hands in. He then moved to open the man's trousers and put his hand inside, sliding his long fingers around the man's half hard cock. Sherlock exhaled loudly at the heat. He began to rock his hips. 

John groaned and bucked into his hand, slipping into Sherlock's pants to feel him properly. John's mouth fell open as he touched and he dropped down to his knees, tugging everything to Sherlock's thighs. "Name's John, by the way, when you're looking to call out." He grinned up at Sherlock before taking him into his mouth, bobbing quickly on his cock.

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled as he slipped into John's mouth. He dropped his hands to John's head, letting his own hips move just a little in response to John's movement. As he was taken deeper, his fingers gripped John's hair. "God," he moaned, "it's good."

John moaned softly around him, looking up at him as he moved. He really was so sexy.

Sherlock looked down. "You'd better get up," he said. "I need to fuck you now and want you on the sofa." He stepped back and pushed down his own trousers, kicking them off with his shoes and socks as he made his way over to the sofa.

John followed, pulling his shirt off and shoving his pants and trousers down. There was a bit of stumbling as he stepped out of the rest, pulling Sherlock into a hard kiss.

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss and instead reached into the side table for a bottle and a condom. He pulled John's body to the edge, lifting his hips up onto the arm of the sofa. Sherlock moved between John's legs. He poured some lube into one hand and then bent over and sucked John's cock into his mouth. He swallowed him down all the way to his base and then pulled up and began bobbing. As he did, he moved his wet hand to John's balls, rubbing and pulling gently.

"Fuck . . . that's good," John moaned, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. It felt like it had been forever. He gazed down at him, unable to look away.

Sherlock kept sucking John as he pushed a slick finger inside him. He curled and turned it, brushing lightly against his prostate. He lifted his head and looked at John. "John what?" he asked, as he began to pump his finger inside him. 

John merely smiled and arched back onto the sofa, opening his legs a bit wider for him.

Sherlock pushed two fingers in now, stretching John. His own cock ached and he knew that it wouldn't be long until this urge was gone and he could get back to being able to concentrate properly on things of his own choosing. He stood up and started to stroke himself as he continued to pump his fingers into John. Then he slid them out and reached over to grab a condom. He rolled it on and then looped his arms under John's thighs to pull him closer, before pushing into him. He immediately began thrusting, not hard and fast, but steady so he could feel it in every nerve and muscle in his body. "God," he called out under his breath.

"Oh yes," John moaned loudly, thrusting towards Sherlock as well as he could, his hands against the arm of the sofa to stay balanced. "That feels so good . . . fuck," he murmured. He watched Sherlock, admiring his face.

Sherlock let his hips go and he reached down to John's cock, stroking it hard and fast. With his other hand, he gripped John's hip. "Fuck," he mumbled and closed his eyes. It helped to concentrate on what his body was doing -- it was his body that wanted this.

John pulled his legs higher, not wanting to restrict his movement. It felt fantastic -- he moaned with every thrust into his body, trying to move with him for more.

Sherlock's hips were moving hard and fast now and he did his best to keep his hand steady on John's cock. He looked up at the man's face, mumbling, "It's . . . I need . . . I'm close . . ."

John took over stroking his own cock so Sherlock could focus. "I'm almost . . . fuck . . . almost there."

Sherlock's hands moved instinctively to John's hips, and he pulled them to meet his own as he thrusted into John. He closed his eyes and he could feel the tension move from his belly throughout his entire body. He slammed one more time, freezing deep inside him, and he did call John's name as he released and came. His head dropped, and he tried to breathe again.

John swore at the sight of Sherlock losing control, coming right after him. He watched it go on his hand and Sherlock's belly, groaning and murmuring his name.

Sherlock stayed still through John's orgasm, watching him. Then he squeezed John's legs softly and slipped himself out, taking off and tying up the condom. He grabbed his trousers and slipped them on, without bothering with his pants or socks, and then slipped his shirt on as well. He carried the condom to the bin and put the kettle on. "Do you want a cup of tea then, so called John?" he called.

"Sure," John said, moving around the sitting room to get dressed. He used this to get a proper look around, noting that it was packed but not necessarily messy. There were a lot of papers and even test tubes. "What's in these?"

"Don't touch those, please," Sherlock said. "How do you want your tea?"

"I was just looking," John said, looking over at him instead. "Just milk please."

"Well, don't worry yourself over those things," Sherlock said. He handed the cup to John and then sat down. It was awkward. So he finally said, "Blood. It's blood in the tubes." He took a sip of tea. "For a logical reason obviously. Nothing peculiar." He swallowed more tea. "Do you live round here then? Do you want me to call you a cab?"

"I can manage," John said, sipping at his tea. He didn't bother sitting down. "I can go now if you prefer we don't do the niceties," he added.

"I'd like to think that what happened on the sofa was quite nice," Sherlock said. "You've got an early morning tomorrow, then?"

"Not too bad," John said. "About the morning, I mean. The sofa was excellent," he smiled.

"It was," Sherlock nodded. "So . . . thanks for that." He set his mug down. "Do you want me to walk with you or . . . I really don't mind getting you a cab. . ."

John took his mug into the kitchen and went for the door. "No, really I'll be fine." He pulled the door open and stepped out. "Thanks, Sherlock," he smiled before leaving. He felt good and refreshed and sleepy. As the cab drove towards his apartment he pulled out Sherlock's card and read it over again. He'd been very good and very sexy. Maybe he'd call on him again.

Sherlock locked his door and decided to go straight to bed. He was glad that was sorted. John seemed like a nice enough chap, and Sherlock had definitely enjoyed himself. He was sure he'd be able to focus tomorrow.


	2. Sherlock Is Distracted

Sherlock had fallen to sleep quite quickly and when he woke up in the morning, he stretched and got straight into the shower. Then he made himself a cup of tea, after washing his and John's mugs from last night. He took his tea over to his desk and started work.

John got up for work the next morning easily enough, thankful that he hadn't drunk too much the night before. His first day was busy, patients flooding in with all kinds of moans and complains.

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon working. He felt better than he had in weeks. He finished the case he had been struggling with and then tidied up the mess he had left on the table and then he got caught up on his emails. He was back to normal -- he had given his body what it needed and now it would leave him and his brain alone to work. 

John took his lunch outside. When he reached into his pocket, he found Sherlock's card and smiled softly at it. Maybe he'd need a detective one day. He smiled and shook his head, finishing up and heading inside.

The rest of the day went by quickly -- same pile of symptoms, same pile of complaints. When he got home he considered having a shower but went to make dinner instead. He'd have a night in and recuperate and maybe he'd go out tomorrow again. He watched telly until he was dozing on the sofa so he finally dragged himself to bed. He put Sherlock's card on the bedside table before turning out the light to sleep. 

Once Sherlock realised that it had got dark, he made a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa. He thought about what had occurred on it last night; it made sense to think of it -- it was the last thing he'd done on the sofa. He glanced at the clock and then checked his phone. No messages. Strange that John hadn't called; they always called.

It's not that he had wanted John to get in contact; he didn't. Sherlock didn't need him now. It just surprised him: they always called. It's just as well really, Sherlock hated those conversations.

He went back to his desk. He tried to focus but then it dawned on him that he didn't even know John's last name. Was John even his name? What was this guy's deal -- he just went out to bars, met strange men, fucked them and disappeared? What kind of person did that? Sherlock ignored all irony with that question.

He thought about everything he knew about John. Not much: handsome, short, probably early 40s. Nice body, good at sex. That was about it. He thought harder.

Confident, he was confident -- a younger man asks him to dance, brings him home -- yet there was no hesitation, there was even a bit of cockiness about it, which made Sherlock smile to himself. What else? Cheap -- he'd say frugal, but likely cheap -- he finished his drink before dancing. Proud -- wouldn't accept a cab home. Curious but not too curious -- he'd asked about Sherlock's mess but didn't pry. Sherlock glanced at where the mess had been. There had been many things sitting there, but John had asked about the test tubes. Medicine.

Sherlock opened his phone and rang Mike.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm looking for a doctor, I think. Named John -- shorter, greying blond hair, about your age. Of the homosexual persuasion. Ring any bells?"

"Sherlock, what are you on about? Is this a case?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. "Do you know who I'm talking about? I'm not sure his name is John -- though to be fair, he does look like his name is John. Handsome, smart, I think. Christ, how much more do you need -- all I'm looking for is a surname . . . he doesn't take sugar in his tea." 

"Oh yes, John the doctor who doesn't take sugar, of course, I know exactly the person," Mike said. "Hold on, Jesus, don't tell him I said he was handsome, but I think I might know who you mean. Watson. John Watson. He used to be here at Bart's with me, but he's just started at that new surgery not far from yours."

"Good," Sherlock said and hung up without saying anything else.

After a few minutes, he found him online. Yes, that was him -- a picture of him outside the new surgery confirmed it. He was handsome. Sherlock read the article with a few quotes.

So now he knew. He felt better. John would probably call tomorrow. It didn't matter. Sherlock had work to do, he didn't need to deal with one of those calls anyway. He put his feet up on the table and finished his tea before getting up to work again. But he fell asleep instead.

The next day before work John put the card into his pocket again before leaving. The morning started slow so he busied himself with paperwork and filing.

Sherlock awoke in the middle of the night and realised he was still on the sofa. It seemed a bit daft to get up and go to bed so he turned on it properly and immediately went back to sleep.

When he woke up and it was morning, he got up to use the toilet and make tea. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he realised John had been in his dream. It wasn't totally clear -- his dreams rarely were -- but Sherlock was pretty sure some sort of peril was involved. He wondered what it meant. He carried his tea to his desk.

He had an annoying email from Mycroft which he deleted before finishing: his brother knew his policy of deleting if the first line didn't catch his attention and the first line had definitely not caught Sherlock's attention. No emails from Lestrade -- frustrating as now that Sherlock could focus on work, he needed work to focus on. This made him think to pick up his phone. Still, nothing from John. Odd. Unless . . . could he be in some peril? Unlikely. Perhaps Sherlock's brain was still shaking off its sleep. He took a shower to wake it up.

Once he was dressed, he decided to go out and get the papers. He said hello to Mrs Hudson as he passed and headed straight into the news agents. Then he walked and suddenly, he appeared to be standing outside of John's surgery. He looked it over and then found himself at the reception desk.

"Is Dr Watson available?" he asked the woman.

She glanced down. "He's got appointments this afternoon, I'm afraid. Can I make you an appointment with a different doctor?" 

"You're sure he's all right?"  
  
The woman looked puzzled. "Well, I just watched him come back from lunch and he seemed fine to me."

"Good," Sherlock said and then he left.

On the walk back he wondered why he had gone, why he'd done what he'd done. Mycroft would no doubt accuse him of childishness -- of wanting to be left alone and then when he was, demanding someone's attention. Is that what Sherlock was doing?  
  
Perhaps, he could barely admit, but it felt different. It was probably the dream. It was just all unusual. Maybe the problem was not having a case. Maybe he was just turning John Watson into a case because he didn't have anything else to think about. That was probably it. He headed home, dropping off the scratchcards he'd promised to get Mrs Hudson and then going upstairs to read the papers.

After lunch the day picked up a bit, much to John's happiness because it had been dragging before. He had decided over lunch that he was going to go out again tonight. He was settling into work just fine, and a night out would be very welcome.

Shortly after getting home, Sherlock's phone made a noise. He was surprised to find there was a pang of disappointment when it wasn't John. Or maybe it was just because it was in fact his brother. 

_You know the length of the first line depends upon the size of your window. MH_

Sherlock frowned but there was a link, which he clicked.

_Interested? MH  
_

_Possibly. SH_

_I will take that as a yes. There's a car downstairs. MH_

Sherlock got his coat and headed down to the car, which took him to a restaurant. Mycroft was at a table in back. He slid an envelope across to Sherlock. "I need it by Friday," he said.

"You will have it by Friday then," Sherlock said.

"Have a drink," Mycroft said, motioning to the server. "So you're feeling more . . . focused now, I take it?"

Sherlock said, "I have no idea to what you are referring."

"Of course, you don't. Neither do I," Mycroft said. "And will you be seeing him again?"  
  
"Obviously not," Sherlock said.

"If you'd try harder, you wouldn't run into these issues, brother. The brain is the only muscle in your body you need to look after."

Sherlock downed his drink. "I'll be in touch," he said as he stood up.

"By Friday," Mycroft said, already reading a message on his phone.

That night John took a long shower and got dressed for the pub again. He wondered if Sherlock would be there again, but he pretended to ignore that thought as he got ready and left. He decided to walk, taking his time to get there. There was a small queue outside and John joined it, waiting to go in.

The car turned and on his right Sherlock saw John, outside the bar. John Watson. Who hadn't called or even given Sherlock his surname. There was something sharp in Sherlock's stomach. He asked the driver to pull over a little further up the road. He tucked the envelope in the inside pocket of his coat and got out his phone. He did a Bluetooth search and there it was "JW." He sent a text.

_You haven't called. Rude after I offered such hospitality. SH_

John felt his phone vibrate and fished it out and read the message, his stomach flipping lightly.

_If you'd been looking for more, perhaps took shouldn't have offered a cab two minutes after. -JW_

Sherlock watched John from the doorway of a closed restaurant halfway down the block. He couldn't tell if he was on his own in the queue.

_So you'll be spending the night with whomever you go home with this evening? SH_

_I don't spend the night with anyone. -JW_

_So why didn't you call to see if you could not spend the night with me again? SH_

John smiled at the message as the queue made its way in.

_I didn't realise you wanted another night with me. -JW_

_I don't. SH_

_I mean I don't need one. SH_

_I mean, why would you go out to the bar instead of at least calling me once? SH_

Sherlock leaned back on the door. What was he doing and why didn't he stop doing it? he asked himself but didn't have any answers.

John looked around the crowd for Sherlock, but he didn't see him anywhere. He kept looking as he typed back.

_People usually find someone else. I assumed you would, too. -JW_

_Have you found me? SH_

_No. Are you here? -JW_

John looked around again. He'd already denied two different men dances. He didn't know why . . . Sherlock was history now. But maybe he wasn't.

_No. Are you going to come find me? SH_

_I know where to find you. I was at your place. I'm wondering how you found me. -JW_

_I_ am _a detective, don't forget. SH_

_Come find me, John. SH  
_

_I'm not a detective. Are you at home? -JW_

_No. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Enjoy your night wherever you spend it. SH_

Sherlock walked home, not quite sure what exactly he'd just done.

_If you want me to find you I will need a little help. Your home and this club are all I know._

John stared at the message for a minute and then erased it all, stuffing his phone away. There was no sense in feeling guilty. If Sherlock had wanted more than a one night stand, he should have said so. Besides, he was the one that had offered the cab before John had even put his clothes on. John tried to forget about him and focus on the other people there, but no one was tall enough. Or handsome enough. Not one was Sherlock. He finished his drink and left the club, choosing to walk home. He almost texted Sherlock, thinking the night shouldn't end completely empty, but he didn't bother. He just went home, climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep. He pulled the card out again and properly saved the number. He didn't know why. 

At home, Sherlock dumped out the contents of Mycroft's envelope. _This_ is what he needed to be thinking about, not some stranger he shared a quick shag with. He made a pot of tea and brought it, some milk and a mug to his desk. He started working.

At about three in the morning, Sherlock took a break. He opened the window and lit a cigarette. The air coming in was too cold. He wondered if John was with someone. If he'd spend the night, even though he claimed he didn't do that. What was it John was doing? What was it John was doing to Sherlock?

He flicked the cigarette out the window, watching it fall to the empty street. He went back to work.


	3. Sherlock Has A New Need

Yet somehow, Sherlock was now finding himself waking up on the sofa, the sunlight too bright through the window. He didn't remember lying down or falling asleep. He did remember what he and John had done on the sofa. He thought he might have been dreaming of it as he woke up with an erection. Which he decided to ignore.

He looked at the clock -- it was almost 9. He got up to shower before returning to his desk to work. He stared at the notes he had taken last night but the words were jumbling together. He picked up his phone and found John's number.

_I'm not sure I'm well. I think I need a doctor. SH_

The next morning at work John was waiting for his next patient when Mike popped in to say hello. "How's the job treating you?"

"It's all right -- nothing too exciting," John said. He missed the excitement and thrill of being abroad despite the nightmares he now had because of it. 

"Yes, but it does pay the bills," Mike smiled. John agreed, straightening some papers. "Oh! Did your friend find you?"

"My friend?" John asked, looking over at him. 

"A friend of mine -- well, I say friend but -- anyways," Mike said, waving his hand distractedly. "He was looking for you. Sherlock?"

John's mouth opened in understanding, nodding slowly. "Yes, he did," he said, not elaborating further. 

"Good. Well, I know you have patients so I won't keep you. Have a good one, John."

John waved him off and pulled out Sherlock's card, turning it in his fingers. He had no idea how Sherlock knew to ask Mike about him -- had John mentioned where he worked? Had Mike given Sherlock John's number? Speaking of, he felt his phone sound and he pulled it out, grinning at the message. He was asking around for John and using cheesy pick up lines? Sherlock had definitely been confused about what their intent was that night. But then again John found it slightly sweet.

_How awful. You should make an appointment and come in immediately. -JW_

For a second, Sherlock's stomach felt funny -- was he actually unwell? -- but he realised he'd hadn't eaten for over a day. He was supposed to be working. Yet he was just about to make a decision that was very unrelated to work.

_House call needed. SH_

John grinned and shook his head. He ignored the small drop in his stomach. Was Sherlock just feeling horny and too lazy to go out to find someone else? No -- finding a new partner would be easier than playing silly games like this. What did he want?

_I'm all booked until 3. -JW_

_I can come after that. -JW_

_I might be better by then. Perhaps you should stop by to be sure? SH_

_Can't be there before 3. I'm sorry. -JW_

_I'll see you then. If I die before, I'm leaving you my test tubes. SH_

_Will I be able to touch them then? -JW_

_You can do what you want. SH_

_If I'm dead, obviously. SH_

_You won't be dead. -JW_

Sherlock went back to work. He had until Friday, but he would probably need until Friday. He could not not focus on this. With a cup of tea, he began work in earnest.

After a few hours, he felt so close to the answer he was looking for, but there was just something stopping him. He stared up at the wall where he had marked out the case. Then he lay down on the sofa and steepled his fingers to think.

But the sofa distracted him. Was John the thing stopping him? He picked up his phone.

_All better. No need for a visit._

He stared at the message. It was really quite a dick-ish thing to send after all of his previous texts but it was also so very, very Sherlock. He thought for a moment then deleted it and did something very un-Sherlock-like.

_Could we meet at the cafe near mine instead? Text me when you leave work and I'll meet you there. SH_

John blinked at the message. Meet at a cafe? Was this now a date -- a proper date? He got nervous suddenly and tried to get himself together a bit before responding. 

_A cafe? How am I going to do a proper exam in a cafe? -JW_

_I don't think you're sick at all. -JW_

Sherlock was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was actually sick or possibly just losing his mind.

_Are you sure you're not also a detective? SH_

Sherlock tried to go back to work, tried to focus as best he could.

_I can assure you that I am not. -JW_

_Speaking of, what's a consulting detective? Like a private one? -JW_

_Aren't I seeing you in a few hours? Shall we talk about this then? Some of us have work. SH_

_I am taking care of my patients just fine. -JW_

_Did you drop a test tube? -JW_

_Look if you've got time to chat via text shall we just meet now? Let me work and I'll see you round 3. SH_

John complied and didn't bother answering back to that. He continued seeing patients, a bit more distracted now. Was he really going on a date? It had been such a long time -- and never with anyone that he had a one night stand with. Why was he going now? What was different about Sherlock? So far he couldn't actually say. He was a sexy, mysterious stranger and a very good fuck. But there was more -- maybe he needed the date to figure it out. When he was finally finished, he started walking towards Sherlock's. 

_I'm on my way. I'm walking. -JW_

Sherlock got to the cafe first and ordered a cup of tea. He saw John down the road a bit. His stomach hurt again. What had John done to him to make him feel this way?

John looked around and spotted the cafe, assuming it must be the one Sherlock meant since his flat was in sight. He walked in and ordered a mug of tea, joining him at the table. He was even more beautiful in the daylight. "Hello," he smiled. 

"I wanted to apologise," Sherlock started. "I'm not quite sure what's going on with me -- I'm not ill -- I'm just having a hard time focusing on work and I'm afraid my possible flirtation via text might have given you the wrong idea. I don't know if I was looking for a distraction, which is illogical as I only met you to overcome my distraction, but . . . I'm not quite sure what's going on here." He stopped abruptly and took a drink of tea. Not only did all that make him sound like a dick, but he sounded like an idiot as well.

John was surprised to find his stomach dropping in disappointment. "I . . . don't understand," he said slowly. "You invited me out to apologise for flirting -- for asking for more of my company?"

"No . . . well, . . . I don't . . .," Sherlock swallowed more tea. "I don't know why I've done any of this," he admitted.

"Look . . . I've not done this for a very long time and if you wanted just a one night thing then I am okay with that. I was from the start. But you went through a lot of trouble to find me and frankly . . . well, I haven't been able to throw your card out. You tell me what you want and I will try my best to do it for you." John played with his mug while he spoke, tracing the handle or fingering at the rim. 

What _did_ Sherlock want? He didn't think it was more sex. Was he just pouting because John hadn't called like others had? He didn't think it was that either. He could not say what he wanted because he literally did not know. So instead he said, "It wasn't a lot of trouble. It _is_ my job, you know."

John smiled and looked up at him. "I don't think that was the point of all of that," he teased. "But really, anyone can ask around -- how did you know to try Mike?"

"He's the only person in London I know," Sherlock said.

"Oh. Well, that was a lucky coincidence," John smiled wider. 

"Well . . . and now I know you, apparently," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "And now you know me." 

"Do I, though?" Sherlock said, able to meet John's eyes now. "Why didn't you want me to know your surname?"

"Because I thought you were going to be a quick fuck and that would be the end of it. I never tell any of them my last name because . . ." he hesitated, looking down at his mug. " . . . because I don't want them to find me. It's just -- stress relief, you know? But you . . . I don't mind this."

Sherlock had not been expecting that. He said, "I wasn't expecting that."

"Which part? That I didn't want strangers looking for me even though I sleep with them? Or that I don't mind that you went through the trouble anyways?"

"I'm not sure," Sherlock said. "You seem to have me somewhat confused, John Watson. Which I do not like one bit." He took another sip of tea and then topped up his cup.

"Well, usually I just do this sort of thing as a stress relief. I never want more. So I don't give them a way to get more. My name is common enough to let me do that. Until you. Maybe that's the universe telling me something," John smiled, doing the last of his tea.

"Well, that seems a little . . . romantic," Sherlock said. "I don't really do romantic." He swallowed. "Then again, I don't really do most of what I've done since you left my flat." He looked around the cafe and out the window for a few minutes. "I'm trying to work, you see. But for some reason, you were . . . really annoying me."

"What?" John laughed. "You were the one texting me every five minutes."

"I know! Because you were annoying me!" Sherlock said, laughing a little himself.

"I really don't know how that's possible," John grinned. "I didn't even finish my tea that night -- is that what annoyed you?" he teased. 

Sherlock smiled. There really was something about John he quite liked, even if he couldn't put his finger on what precisely it was. "You're a doctor -- what do you think is happening? Perhaps I am unwell."

"You're not unwell. I think that you like me," John said. He smiled lightly and looked down at the table.

"I don't usually like anyone," Sherlock said. "Other people annoy me. You're just annoying me in an unusual way that apparently makes me . . . I don't quite understand it."

John looked up again. "I suppose I understand that. You're the only one I've ever wanted to see again after the night." 

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "Why? Just because of . . . what happened?"

"No," John shook his head. "That always happens, remember?" He offered a small smile and shrugged. "You looked for me after -- went through the trouble and I guess . . . I like that," he admitted. Despite having said he took precautions against that specifically. 

"God, you really are annoying, I think," Sherlock said. "First you insult me by saying that what happened is indistinguishable from your times with others and then you claim my only appeal if my somewhat stalker-like behaviour which I've already said is not who I am at all. Are you sure _you're_ not the one who is ill in some way?"

"As far as the sex," John said. "I mean, in all honesty you just put me up on the sofa arm. You felt bloody incredible, but it wasn't anything different." John rubbed his forehead and looked up at him again. "The difference was that I was attracted to you for more than sex. I danced with you. I liked thinking about you. We flirted. _That_ is what made things different -- what made you different." He felt like he was saying everything wrong. 

Sherlock didn't know precisely what to say to that. It was said like it was a compliment of some sort, but at the same time, it didn't quite feel like one. "Interesting" was all he could think to say. Then he added, "Look, I've got work I've got to be doing. What, in your medical opinion, do you think we should do about this situation?"

"Date," John said easily. "I like thinking about you. You can't work without thinking about me. So, we give our brains, or bodies, what they want." 

"Is this a date?" Sherlock said. "Won't this do the trick?"

"Yes, this is a date," John nodded. "Is this all you needed, then?" He watched Sherlock closely as he waited for him answer. It was easier walking away from a one night stand . . . this might take some more work. 

Sherlock didn't know the answer. He hoped this might be enough, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be. Who was John Watson, what did he mean to Sherlock's life? He looked at his face. It was handsome, true, but there were many handsome faces in London. There'd even be a few handsome faces on Sherlock's sofa. Why did John's face _mean_ something to Sherlock and what did it mean?

"I don't think it is," he said finally. "But I don't think a date will be helpful."

"What do you think will?" John asked, resisting looking down at his mug again. 

"I feel like I want to be around you all the time," Sherlock said quietly.

John looked down now and couldn't help smiling softly. "Would you happen to need a flatmate? Big flat like that . . . all alone?"

Sherlock thought about that. "Maybe on a trial basis -- at least until Friday? Then we can reevaluate." This was crazy really, but exciting.

John looked up again and nodded. "Yeah, that's a good idea," he nodded. 

"Tonight?" Sherlock asked. "Can you come this evening? It's just . . . I really do have work I need to do."

John nodded. "Yeah, I can come tonight." He grinned and looked down again. "Good, yeah."

"I really don't know what I'm doing, John Watson," Sherlock said. He made a move to get up. "But I do hope you'll come by. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah," John smiled, getting up as well. "Go work and I will see you soon."


	4. Sherlock Has A New Distraction

Sherlock headed home. He tried not to think of what he'd just done. He tried to think of his case. He sat down straight away and began working.

John walked home thinking about going over to Sherlock's later. This was definitely odd. He had never dated a one night stand let alone moved in with one. But this wasn't one. This was Sherlock. He grinned as he got home. He started packing a bag for the week. They were sure to have sex again. John couldn't wait to see him like that again. 

Sherlock continued working for a few more hours. Then he thought it might be a good idea to tidy up a bit -- since someone else was going to be here, there were a few things that probably should be taken care of. He cleaned out the fridge and wiped it down. He locked away some of his more private materials and he aired out the second bedroom. 

When it was finally dark out John pulled out his phone, texting Sherlock quickly as he headed outside. 

_I hate to bother you if you're working. -JW_

_Can I come over now? -JW_

Sherlock reached for his phone.

_Now is convenient. The address is on the card if you can't remember it. SH_

_I remember. See you soon. -JW_

He flung his arm out for a cab, giving the address and watching the buildings pass until he arrived. He knocked on the door, looking up to the windows while he waited.

Sherlock went downstairs to retrieve John. He awkwardly took his bag to carry it for him, though he had no idea why he did. As they passed it, he knocked on Mrs Hudson's door.

"This is John Watson, he'll be staying here for a little while so you needn't be alarmed if you see him enter the flat," he told her. He looked at John. "This is Mrs Hudson, the landlady." And then he headed up to the flat.

He carried up John's bag and dropped it by the door of the second bedroom. "You can stay in this room. I mean, you don't have to _stay_ in this room, I mean this can be your room. It's got a bed and what have you. I guess if you need something, we can go get it." He came back down and stood in the sitting room. "You're familiar with this room and the kitchen. That door's the bathroom and next to it, my room. That's the flat." He stood stupidly for a moment. "Tea?" he asked and went into the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

"Yeah, sure," John said, following him into the kitchen as he looked around again. "Hey . . . will I be sleeping in your bed? Or will you be sleeping in mine?" He leaned against the frame. "I just mean . . . I've never actually fallen asleep with anyone before and I didn't know how you'd feel about that."

"We'll see," Sherlock said, "I've never done any of this before so it's hard to say." He passed a mug to John. "The test tubes have been cleaned. I tried to tidy. No more blood." He stood awkwardly for a few minutes, just looking at John. John who was now standing in his flat. Staying in his flat. Because Sherlock had invited him to. Very odd indeed. 

"I think I'll get back to work now," Sherlock said, moving over to his desk. "You can check out your room if you want."

"Yeah," John said, raising the mug before turning to go back to his room. He hadn't thought Sherlock to be so literal when he said he would work better with John simply being around. He sat down on the edge of his bed and looked around the plain room, sipping at his tea. He wanted to go back down but didn't want to bother Sherlock. He was glad they were trying this out first.

Sherlock went back to his work. He was able to locate the formula he was looking for. So far, so good. This seemed to be working. He glanced up at John's room. John had shut the door. What was he doing up there? Sherlock tried to go back to work, but he was too focused on wondering about John. He picked up his phone.

_Could you come down to the sitting room, please? SH_

John looked at the message and raised his brows, heading back down. He looked right at Sherlock as he texted back, smiling.

_Is there no talking allowed? -JW_

Sherlock glanced at his phone and then looked at John. "I needed you to come down but I don't like shouting in the flat. However, if you really need to shout at some point, please go right ahead. You should be able to communicate in whichever way suits you. Anyway," he said, "Your being out of the room seems to be distracting me. Could you do something down here, perhaps? Have you got a laptop or something? The newspapers are over there if you want to read them. I could probably even tolerate the television if you want. I don't know what you usually do in the evening. Well, I mean, I don't know what you usually do on your own in the evening, but if you could do it in this room, that'd be very helpful."

"Um . . . okay," he said, going down the rest of the stairs. He picked up the newspaper and sat down in the nearest armchair. He'd have to go pick up his laptop for the rest of the week. "Can I ask what you're working on?"

"A case," Sherlock said, staring at his laptop.

"Oh. Okay." He went back to the paper, turning the pages quietly as he skimmed them.

"I can't say too much," Sherlock tried to explain. "My brother . . . works for the government and needed a favour. So it's . . . classified." He fiddled with some papers. "I wasn't just being rude . . . are you hungry? Do you want me to order some food for you?"

"That's okay," John assured him. "I can order something while you're working -- I saw the Chinese place next door. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah, um . . . just fried rice for me, I suppose," Sherlock said. "I've got a bottle of wine somewhere but no beer or anything."

"That'll be fine," John said. "I'll probably just have water this time." He got his jacket. "I'm just going to nip downstairs and pick it up real quick, okay?" 

"Yeah, fine," Sherlock said as he watched John leave. Sherlock closed his laptop and thought about John. He was pretty sure he was glad John was here, even though he still wasn't sure why -- why he wanted him in the flat, why he wanted him in the room. But he did. He stood up and went to his room where he changed into his pajamas. He threw on his dressing gown and returned to the kitchen, where he got out the two clean plates and sets of silverware that he owned. 

John was coming back in no time, both boxes in one bag. He waved to the landlady who flashed him a grin before shutting her door again. He was smiling a bit confused as he came back into the flat. "Dinner's here," he announced pointlessly. 

"No shouting, please," Sherlock said. He took the bags from John and scooped them onto the plates. "Egg rolls?" he asked.

"Wrapped in that wax paper bundle," he said, pointing to it at the bottom of the bag. 

"Thanks for going to get this," Sherlock said, "how much money do I owe you?" He sat down at the table to begin eating.

John shook his head. "Nothing. It's my treat," he said, sitting down with him. "Do you want to continue working? I don't mind eating alone."

"No, I'd like to eat here," Sherlock said. "I've put on my pajamas."

"I noticed," John smiled. "I feel a bit overdressed," he teased. 

"You can change after we eat," Sherlock said. "If you want . . . do you want to watch some telly after when we're done?" 

John nodded. "I don't mind if you have work to finish. Honest," he smiled. 

"I meant, you could watch the telly while I worked . . . " Sherlock said. "Sorry, I'm not used to talking to someone all the time in the flat. There's usually not a lot of talking here."

"I will keep myself entertained while you work. I see you have a lot of books there -- I'm sure one of them must be interesting."

"They're all interesting," Sherlock said, a little defensively. "If you were at home right now, what would you be doing?"

"Reading or watching telly," he shrugged. "Or attempting to work on my blog."

"A blog? What kind of blog?" Sherlock said. "What's this all about? Why haven't you mentioned this earlier?"

"It's just a therapy thing. My therapist thinks that if I write about things that are happening to me I will assimilate into civilian life better," he explained. "It's not going well. Nothing really happens to me."

"Well, something happened to you the other night," Sherlock said, "but, oh yes, I remember . . . that was nothing special . . ." He stood up and set his plate in the sink and then flipped on the kettle.

John felt his chest tighten. "You are, though. The one night stand wasn't but you are," he said. 

"Am I? Special? Or just unusual?" Sherlock asked, setting two cups of tea on the table.

"Special," John confirmed. "I mean it, Sherlock. I-I quite like you."

"But we barely know each other," Sherlock said, looking down at his mug. "Why on earth are you here? I mean, I know you're here because I asked you . . . but _why_?"

"Have you ever had feelings for anyone before? Other than sexual?" he asked quietly. 

"I don't have sexual feelings 'for anyone', I just have sexual feelings occasionally," Sherlock said. "As for other feelings, I have felt annoyance and frustration, but I'm guessing that's not quite what you're referring to."

"You like me, Sherlock. You are having romantic feelings and they make us do crazy things sometimes. Going on dates, flirting . . . asking a stranger to move in," he smiled up at him. 

"Unlikely," Sherlock said, "no offense -- it's nothing personal -- I just don't really do feelings like that."

"Then you tell me why I'm here. Why did you text me? Why did you invite me out? Why did you flirt with me?" He was getting angry now, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have no problem leaving, Sherlock. I'd rather not but it won't kill me. Or you."

"Don't get cross, John," Sherlock said. "I'm just saying I've never done feelings. From what I've seen on television, romantic feelings are supposed to be . . . nice. Yet, as I said, whatever I 'feel' for you has been mainly frustrating, so . . . and what are you talking about anyway, flirting? I've not flirted with you once." 

"All of that 'I need a house call, doctor'? That was flirting. And I am cross because you're blaming me for feeling frustrated and demanding I do something about it because I don't know what to do. I don't. I can only be here." 

"I'm not demanding you do something . . . I'm just trying to understand," Sherlock said. He didn't say anything for a few minutes. "I apologise for the misunderstanding. I'm not being clear because I don't feel very clear."

"I'm sorry I got angry," John said quietly. "I just . . .I don't know what I am doing either. I mean . . . I know how I feel about you, I know what I want. But I don't know what you want." 

"What do you want then? You've not told me," Sherlock said.

"I want to flirt with you. And go on dates. And have sex with just you. I want to tell people that you are my boyfriend." John was staring at his mug, fingering the rim again. 

"And when did you decide this?" Sherlock said.

"When you said you needed a house call," John said, looking up at him. "I was thinking about it before, just a little bit. But that's what made me think it might be possible," he shrugged. 

Sherlock finished his tea. "Well, you've said what you wanted. I would like to make a counter proposal. You live here for a few more days. Our dates will be takeaways, like this. And the flirting . . . can stay, apparently I can do it, even if I'm not sure when I'm doing it. We can have another talk on Friday. What do you think?"

"That sounds good," he nodded. John had assumed that was already the plan but he agreed, finishing off his tea. "Now. I am going to watch some telly while you finish your work," he smiled, getting up to wash his mug. 

"I doubt I'll finish tonight. But I'd like to do a little more," Sherlock said, getting up to move to his desk. He fiddled with some papers. "John," he said, "would you mind putting the kettle on again before you sit down?"

"Sure thing," he said, getting the kettle onto the burner. He leaned on the counter figuring he would wait for it. 

Sherlock looked over at John and smiled. John was handsome and pretty good considering the extraordinary circumstances. He hoped John could keep tolerating him until he figured everything out.

John glanced over and smiled when he caught Sherlock's eye. "Work, mister. I'm not watching water boil for my sake," he teased. 

Sherlock looked down at his desk but smiled a little. "No sugar, please," he said. He went back to work.


	5. They Try Something New

John smiled and made up Sherlock's mug, setting it beside him before going to look through the books on the shelf. They were all interesting -- all of them reference books, biographies, encyclopedias -- nothing for light reading, though. He smiled and went back to the sofa, turning on the telly and keeping it very low as he flipped through the channels. 

Sherlock kept working with only occasional glances over at John. It helped to not be wondering and worrying -- he knew what John was doing because he was right there with Sherlock. Is that really a romantic feeling? He wasn't sure. After a while, he shut down his laptop and announced, "That's it for this evening, I think." He stood up and moved over to the sofa, sitting at the opposite end. "What are we watching?" he asked John.

John glanced over at him and then back to the telly. "It's just a documentary about the planets," he said, feeling self conscious about it now."Hey, can I try something?"  

"Probably," Sherlock said. "What is it?"

"Well, I'm still not sure how sleeping together will go. I mean, actually sleeping so I thought . . . well . . . we can try some non-sexual touching now. Like cuddling," he rambled, wringing his fingers. "That way, if we have sex, there won't be any confusion -- I'll just go to my room if we don't like it," he finished quickly. 

"Um . . . all right, let's try it," Sherlock said. He slid down the sofa, closer to John. He pulled his legs up under him and then leaned against John. It wasn't quite comfortable, so he turned slightly and wrapped one of his arms around John's waist.

John shifted a bit, wrapping his arm around Sherlock and dropping his head onto Sherlock's. John closed his eyes as if that would help him better decide if he liked this. Sherlock's arm and the pressure against him was nice. He did like it. He liked having someone to hold like this and being held himself. It was comfortable and it made all of the one night stands seem a bit lonely. If Friday came along and this didn't work out, he didn't think he'd be able to do it again.  

"This is . . . quite nice," Sherlock said softly. He gripped onto the side of John's jeans. "Maybe you could sleep in my room and we could do this in there."

John nodded against his head. "Yes . . . I really like this," he said. 

"I like . . . the way you smell," Sherlock said. Was that a stupid thing to say? It was true -- he remembered the smell of John from when they were dancing and he recognised it on him now. And he liked it.

John smiled. "You too," he said quietly. "I'm looking forward to sleeping in your bed."

"Should we go in there now? I've got a little telly so we could watch the end of this if you want," Sherlock said. He wondered how things would be different if they were lying down.

"Okay," John agreed, reaching for the remote to turn this one off. He waited for Sherlock to move before he did, following him into his bedroom. He looked around and smiled softly. 

"Did you bring pajamas?" Sherlock said as he took off his dressing gown and hung it on the back of his door.

"Oh! Yes, I did," he nodded. He held up a finger and hurried upstairs, changing into his pajamas. He also stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth before joining Sherlock in his room again. He held his arms out as if showing off before looking to the bed. "Does it matter which side?"

Sherlock brushed his teeth while John retrieved his pajamas. He was standing in front of the telly, trying to find the documentary. "Um," Sherlock said, looking at the bed, "I guess . . . I guess I normally sleep on that side." He motioned to the side nearest the door. Suddenly sleeping in the same bed seemed quite strange. But he tried to think about the touching they were doing a few minutes ago. Doing that more was something Sherlock wanted to do. He moved over to the bed and got under the covers, still sitting up. 

John climbed up to the other side, scooting closer to him and leaning onto his shoulder. He pushed his arm around Sherlock's back to hold him around the middle. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Let's slide down a little so we're lying down more." He reached over and turned off the light before snuggling down. "Can you hear it all right? Here," he said, handing the remote to John.

"It's okay," he said, putting the remote on the bedside table. He curled up with Sherlock and watched the show. There wasn't much left. When it was over, John didn't know if he should find something else or turn it off. He turned his head up to ask Sherlock what he wanted and found his face half buried in Sherlock's neck. God, he smelled intoxicating. John puckered his mouth and pressed a kiss there, forgetting his question. 

"John," Sherlock whispered. "I thought we were doing non-sexual touching. That felt . . . not non-sexual."

"We are," he agreed. He pressed another kiss to his neck. "I just . . . we are. Um, what do you want to watch now?" He kissed his neck longer now, still soft, sucking lightly.  

"Please . . . don't," Sherlock said. "Don't be cross -- I just . . . I just want to do what we were doing out there." This was confusing. Normally, after having sex, Sherlock could go months without having any sexual urges. He hadn't thought about having sex when he invited John to stay at the flat. That's not what he'd been thinking about. At the same time, he was relatively sure that if John kept kissing his neck like that, he might get the urge and that was . . . unusual. He wasn't yet sure about that idea -- about 'inviting' the urge rather than only focusing on trying to get rid of it.

"Okay," John nodded, laying his head on Sherlock's chest again. "I'm not cross, Sherlock. I'll never be cross over something like that." John draped his arm around Sherlock's waist and simply lay with him, closing his eyes and listening to his heart beating under his ear.  

Sherlock lifted his hand and petted John's hair. He took a deep breath and inhaled John's smell. He'd leave it in his bed and, for a second, Sherlock thought he'd never wash his sheets again. Which was a stupid thought and he could almost feel his face redden in embarrassment.

"Can I ask you a few questions?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Sure," John murmured, closing his eyes against the slow stroking of Sherlock's hand. He could definitely get used to this.

"Do you ever drink coffee or only tea?"

"I drink coffee very rarely. If I have to get up earlier than normal, usually."

"Do you prefer cricket or football or neither?"

"Rugby," John smiled. "I used to play in school."

"Do you read the _Guardian_ , _Independent_ , _Telegraph_ or the tabloids?"

"I read the _Guardian_ in the morning. I also like reading historical novels or -- don't judge me -- detective stories. Mysteries."  
  
Sherlock smiled. "How often do you go to the cinema?"

"Not very often. You can find almost anything online now, so if something catches my interest I'll check there first. Don't tell," he smiled.

"Was your heart broken before, during or after the war?"

"Never," John said, "not really."

Sherlock wasn't sure about that answer. John knew what romantic feelings were in a way that Sherlock simply did not. But perhaps it was just because John was more normal than Sherlock.

"When you're not working, do you sleep in or wake up to an alarm?"

"I don't set an alarm but out of habit I'm up around nine," he said.

"Do you work tomorrow?"

"Yeah," John sighed quietly.

"All right then. Have you set your alarm?" Sherlock snuggled into John. "I think that's about it for now." He put a little kiss on the top of John's head. "Unless you have anything you'd like to ask?"

John thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I will learn as we go," he decided. "Do you have an alarm here? My phone is still in my trouser pocket and I don't want to get up."

Sherlock leaned over and grabbed his phone, handing it to John. "Should we try going to sleep now?"

John set the alarm and nodded. He turned the telly off and curled close to him again. "Good night, Sherlock."

"Good night, John Watson," Sherlock said. He slid an arm around John. "I don't know if I'll stay like this all night, but if you get tired of it, just let me know." 

John hummed his agreement, already having closed his eyes. This was different indeed. Actually sleeping with someone in their bed. It was nice -- he liked the domesticated feel of it all. He dozed off, his mind lost in dreams of what life with Sherlock would be like. He dreamt of going on cases and doing experiments, watching bad telly and cooking together. He shifted in his sleep, keeping close to the warmth.

Sherlock tried to turn his mind off -- his body was clearly enjoying the sensation of being next to John so he just let it feel good. He nuzzled into John's shoulder, taking in his smell again. Eventually he fell asleep.


	6. Sherlock Gets Worried Again

When the alarm went off John turned it off quickly and slipped out of bed to get dressed, smiling at Sherlock before nipping upstairs. When he came down he started the kettle, making some toast as well.

When Sherlock woke up, John wasn't in the room, but then he heard someone in the kitchen. He put on his dressing gown and went out. "Morning," he said, taking a mug of tea that was sitting on the table. He walked over to his desk and got out a piece of paper. He started scribbling on it.

"Hello," John said through eating. "I didn't know if I should wake you before I felt so I was giving you until after my breakfast before I wrote a note," he smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

Sherlock stood up and returned to the table. "Yes, I slept well. Could you sign this, please?" He handed John the paper which said:

_I, John Watson, will be spending the day at the surgery, doing work. After work I may stop at my flat; otherwise I will return to Sherlock's flat. He can expect me at _______. If anything changes, I will text Sherlock immediately. Signed,_____________________

John read the little note and looked up at Sherlock, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but no. I am going to be at work until two, I'm going to pick up my laptop and I will come right over," he said, holding Sherlock's gaze. "Please don't make me sign this."

"Why won't you? If it's true, why won't you?" Sherlock asked. 

"Because I want you to trust me without legal documents. We're not entering a business deal," John said, looking down at the note again. 

Sherlock didn't trust John. Not really. Because Sherlock didn't trust anyone. He thought the paper would help -- he wouldn't have to wonder during the day, he wouldn't have to be distracted -- but the truth is, even if John signed the paper, Sherlock could imagine spending the whole day just staring at the paper anyway. "Fine," Sherlock said. "You don't have to sign it."

John leaned up and kissed his cheek lightly, washing his plate and finishing his tea. "I will see you around three, okay? Do you want me to bring anything back with me?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I'll see you then." He stood up and moved to his desk, watching John leave. He stared down as the street, watching him walk off.

Sherlock was sure that John would not be coming back.

John went into work and, after his first couple patients he wondered if he should text Sherlock. It was obvious he was having a bit of separation anxiety -- but then never having done something like this before he supposed it made sense. John would have to show him that he could be trusted. When he went to lunch, he did text Sherlock. 

_Keep me company for lunch? -JW_

_Virtually, at least. -JW_

Sherlock did his best to focus on his work, and he did get some done, but his stomach ached in a horrible way, which made him wonder if he was indeed sick after all. Maybe he was dying. But he wouldn't call John to ask.

When he heard his phone vibrate twice, he wasn't sure whether to pick up. But he did. He took a few deep breaths and thought about the most sensible reply he could think of.

_How has your day been? SH_

_A bit slow. I might be able to get out a little earlier. How's yours? -JW_

_I'm trying to work. SH_

_I wish you were here, John. SH_

John felt a small tightening in his chest when he read the second message. He would call off tomorrow -- Thursdays were slower anyways from what he'd heard.

_I know, but I have tomorrow off so I can be home all day. -JW_

He stared at the word home and smiled softly. Perhaps it would be.

Sherlock smiled.

_We'll see. SH_

_Don't you have work to do? I do. Will I still see you after 3? SH_

_I have ten minutes for lunch left. And like I said, hopefully sooner. -JW_

_All right. Let me work now. See you later. SH_

Sherlock set his phone done. He still wasn't entirely convinced, but it looked like John would be coming back to him. His stomach seemed to feel a little bit better.

John went back up to work, calling patients in ahead of schedule thanks to how slow it was that day. He informed Sarah about not being able to come in the next day, saying there was a family emergency. Around one John saw his last patient.

He took a cab to his flat and got his laptop and just before two he was knocking on the door of 221. He wondered if he should ask for a key. The landlady opened the door and grinned when she saw him.

"How're you liking the place, dear?"

"Oh, it's good. A very good space," John smiled.

"Yes," she said softly, almost as if she hadn't even heard his answer. She just looked at him.

"Um, right well, I've got to go up now," John said, starting for the stairs. She didn't stop him so he turned and hurried up to Sherlock's. "Hello?" He called, taking his shoes off.

Sherlock was in the kitchen, making more tea. He turned around and said, "John, you're here," partly a statement and partly a question.

"Yeah, Mrs Hudson let me in. She was looking at me a bit funny," he said, glancing behind him to the door. "But anyways, I got my laptop so no more bothering you," he smiled wider.

Sherlock poured a cup of tea for John and took it over to him. "I'm glad you came back," he said quietly. He sat down next to John on the sofa and leaned into him, a little awkwardly, but when he moved, he ended up practically sitting in John's lap.

"Of course I came back," John murmured, bringing his empty hand around Sherlock's waist.

"Well, I'm glad," Sherlock said. He stayed in John's lap for a few minutes and then slid over a bit to drink his tea. "Do you mind if I talk to you a bit -- there's one last thing I'm struggling with and it might help to explain it a little. I'll have to leave some gaps . . . but if you could just listen . . . do you mind?"

"I don't mind," John said, turning to face him a bit better. He sipped at his tea and hoped he could help.


	7. Sherlock Finishes His Work

Sherlock talked through what he knew, leaving out some key details, and covered what he was trying to figure out. He stared at the papers he had spread out across his desk as he spoke. Then he glanced at John who was listening quite intently and looking quite handsome. John asked a few questions and Sherlock attempted to answer them until one question made him think . . . and suddenly he had his answer.

"Hold on, I think . . ." Sherlock stopped talking and jotted down some notes. "Yes," he said aloud. He picked up his phone and sent a text to Mycroft.

_Sorted. Shall I email or do you want to meet? SH_

_Will be at Baker Street in one hour. MH_

Sherlock looked up at John quickly. "My brother's coming over," he said nervously.

John sat up a bit straighter. "Should I go?" He asked, unsure of what to do.

"I . . . don't know," Sherlock said. He sat down at his desk. "My brother is quite an unpleasant person. I . . . I'm not ashamed of your being here . . . but he will attempt to make me feel ashamed. He probably won't be very nice to you. That said, presuming that our acquaintance does not end with the end of this case -- which I do not think I want it to -- you will at some point probably need to meet him." That last sentence Sherlock intended to be romantic, though he was pretty sure it didn't come out that way. "I'll leave it up to you," he added.

"I want you to be comfortable. If he's going to harass you I can nip out for a bit or stay upstairs?" John suggested.

"Firstly, no one is ever not uncomfortable around Mycroft -- that's his MO," Sherlock said. "Secondly, the truth is . . . he'll know you've been here even if you're hiding or actually not here. He'll know. So it's really just a matter of whether you want to deal with it. If you'd rather not -- and I wouldn't blame you as I'm difficult enough -- then you can go out." 

"I will stay," John decided. "I'm not afraid of him."

"All right," Sherlock said, standing up. "Here's the thing: there's little point in lying to him. However, that does not mean he has to be told everything. I'd like to keep the details to a minimum. He'll know how and why we met, but we don't need to confirm it for him. You can leave most of the talking to me; however, please know I'm not asking you to stay silent. Say whatever you want -- we'll get through it." He smiled and walked back over to the sofa. "I'm going to jump into the shower and get properly dressed," he said, leaning over and touching John's hair before getting up.

John smiled at the small touch, nodding as he left. When he finished his tea John washed up the mugs and sat down again, waiting for Sherlock.

Sherlock quickly showered, dressed and returned to the sitting room. He sat down in his chair, asking, "Are you going to write on your blog about me, do you think?"

"Maybe," John smiled, looking over at him. "You're a very big thing happening to me."

"I hope I'm not a very big bad thing," Sherlock said. "But you mustn't write anything about this case, all right? Please. And nothing about him either," he added as there was a knock on the door.

Sherlock didn't say anything nor did he make a move to get up. Mycroft came in.

"Sherlock," he said.

"Mycroft," said Sherlock.

Mycroft look at John. "And this is . . .?"

"Unrelated to what you came here for," Sherlock said. "This is John. My friend."  
  
Mycroft looked John over and then glanced at Sherlock.

John promised before Mycroft came in. They didn't look alike at all and the way they some to each other they might as well be strangers. "Nice to meet you," John said. He stood to shake Mycroft's hand but he didn't offer it so John let his drop and he sat down again.

"It's in the envelope you gave me: what you were looking for, _before_ Friday I feel compelled to point out," Sherlock said, nodding towards his desk.

Mycroft stepped over to retrieve the envelope which he tucked into his inside jacket pocket. "No tea?" he asked. "Is he always such a bad host?" he asked John.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up to turn on the kettle.

"We just finished tea, actually." John pointed to the kitchen where the mugs were drying.

"And may I ask why you have decided to join us for our little tête-à-tête?" Mycroft asked John.

"He's staying here . . . for a bit," Sherlock interrupted as he brought in the tea.

"Is that so? Well, isn't that interesting?" Mycroft asked as if he were expecting an answer to the question.

John looked between the two of them and decided to move on. "So Mycroft, what sort of work do you do?"

"Oh nothing quite as important as medicine, Dr Watson," Mycroft said.

"For fuck's sake," Sherlock said, scanning his brain. "Mrs Hudson?" he asked Mycroft.

Mycroft said nothing. He took a sip of tea and then set down his cup. "Well, this has been utterly delightful. I do hope we can do it again." He stood up. "Thank you both. Sherlock, could you see me to the door, please?"

Sherlock followed Mycroft to the door. "This," Mycroft said in a low voice close to Sherlock's face, "is not one of your better ideas, Sherlock. I trust you will rethink it." He turned and left.

Sherlock shut the door and moved back to his chair. "And that is the ever charming Mycroft Holmes."


	8. No Longer A Distraction

"Well, he was pleasant," John smiled as Sherlock came and sat down again. "I assume the land lady told him about me?"

"That, or he's bugged the flat, which he has done in the past," Sherlock said. "Let's put him out of our minds now." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "There, he's gone. I've finished my work now. I suppose this means you are no longer a distraction to me."

John smiled and looked around the room. "So, does that mean I have to go?"

"You're free to go anytime, John, I'm not forcing you to stay here, you know," Sherlock said. "Do you want to go? Or will you stay?"

"I just meant does that mean that this is over," he said, waving a hand between them. "I don't want it to be."

"Nor do I," Sherlock said quietly. He swallowed. "I feel quite embarrassed but I need to ask a question. You seem to be my expert on romance and I was wondering, does sexual desire always accompany romance?"

"No, not necessarily. Look what we've been doing all this time," he said. "I mean, everyone had their own idea on what's romantic and what's not, but I assume you mean the cuddling and dating?"

"I suppose what I'm asking is," Sherlock said, looking down, "if you stay, are you expecting that we'll have sex?"

"Oh. Well, not if you don't want to," John said. And the strange thing was that he felt that would be okay. The need for sex he had before Sherlock seemed to evaporate. What he needed now was to know more about Sherlock, and if that meant no sex then that's what he'd do. But Sherlock had been out for sex when they met, so John would just be there for him when he wanted it.

"That doesn't really answer the question I asked," Sherlock said.

"I did answer it. Obviously after how we met I thought there would be a lot of sex. If it's like something rare that you indulge in every once in a while that's fine, too. What I'm saying is I don't want this to end yet, even if that means abstaining."

"Or perhaps you will go elsewhere? For stress relief . . . like you said," Sherlock asked.

"There's other alternatives I could switch to," John assured him.

"I'm not trying to trick you, John, although I am very good at tricks," Sherlock said, looking at him now. "I wanted to know if you want to. If you want that, sex, to be a part of this -- not what happened after the bar -- this, whatever this turns out to be."

John felt like however he answered this, Sherlock was going to tell him that relationships were not for him and they were done. "It would be nice," he admitted. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I think. That's what I thought last night. In bed. When you kissed my neck." He reached down for his now cold tea and took a drink. "This is unusual for me. I don't court that. Normally, when I feel that way, it is an annoyance."

"Will you explain to me what you mean? What's normal for you and why you were out the night we met?" He kept his eyes on Sherlock, curious as to what was going on in that lovely head of his.

"As a human," Sherlock heard himself say and noted that it was indeed a strange start to this explanation, "I get . . . urges, I suppose. I do not usually find them very pleasant; they are only distractions. Quite often I can sort them myself, but occasionally I cannot. That is why I was out the night we met." He looked over at John again. "However, you became a different kind of distraction. You might have convinced me that that was because of other feeling, more 'romantic' ones, but I am just not sure about . . . bringing these things together."

"Oh. Well, nothing _has_ to happen. I mean, we don't have to have an official announcement or anything. We can just play it by ear -- see how we're feeling. You can do romantic things that don't give you urges, like cuddling on the sofa to watch telly. But then other romantic things, like cuddling while you're trying to sleep, might bring them on." John shrugged and looked up at him again. "We can just be together. Whatever happens, happens."

"All right, John Watson," Sherlock said. "What shall we do now?"

"Well, it's still early -- want to go for a walk or something?"

"That's an excellent idea," Sherlock said. "Perhaps we should get something to eat. You will want dinner." He stood up and stretched before heading towards the door.

John got up quickly and followed him. "There is nothing wrong with wanting dinner," he smiled.

"Of course there's not," Sherlock said. "Which is why I'm offering to take you to dinner." He slipped his hand into John's as they walked, which he hoped that neither he nor John would mind. "Are we headed anywhere in particular?"

"I didn't have anything in mind. Do you have any favourite places to show me?"

"Yes, I know a place where we could go," Sherlock said. He headed towards Angelo's, opening the door for John as they went in and taking the table in front.

John looked around the small restaurant and smiled. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Occasionally," Sherlock answered. "I know the man who owns it." Just then a man came over to the table and lit the candle. "Angelo, this is John, my date." Sherlock smiled.

John smiled wider as he shook the man's hand, chuckling as he listened to the story of Angelo and Sherlock met, Angelo raving about him. When he left John shoved Sherlock's hand lightly. "You never said you were a celebrity!"

"Well, I didn't want you to be seduced by my fame," Sherlock said, grinning stupidly. He looked over the menu even though he always ordered the same thing every time he was here. He did choose a bottle of wine.

"Hmm . . .for all you know I could have been severely put off by it," he teased.

"Well, to be fair, I am often put off by it," Sherlock said. They ordered their food, though Sherlock mostly fiddled with his. The wine was good, though.

"Does the paparazzi stalk you? Will I have to look decent when we leave the flat in case we end up on the front page?" John smiled.

"Shush," Sherlock said. "Besides, you always look handsome." He looked down at his food. "Your meal okay?"

"It's great," John said. "Almost as delicious as my date." He laughed at himself and shook his head. "Sorry," he said embarrassed.

"Yes, please, John, let's not confuse romantic with stupid," Sherlock said, teasing. He took another sip of wine.

"Hey! It wasn't stupid," he grinned. "Just . . . silly," he countered.

"Are you drunk? Do you have a drinking problem?" Sherlock said, suddenly a little anxious. "Please, I don't want you to have a drinking problem." Abuse of intoxicants, as Sherlock knew very well, made human interaction even more difficult for him.

John sobered up quickly and shook his head. "I'd never -- my sister is an alcoholic," he admitted, looking down at his plate as he mixed the food around.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, for both John's sister and for overreacting. He reached over the table and touched John's hand for a second.

"It's okay," John said. "You didn't know."

"I should have," Sherlock said quietly.

They finished their meals and decided to walk home. Sherlock hadn't minded holding hands on the way there, so this time, he looped his arm through John's and found that he liked that as well.

John smiled and leaned on his shoulder for a second. "I'm glad you were out that night -- and that you picked me," he said.

"I'm glad you took me up on my offer of a sexual encounter entirely indistinguishable from all the others you've had," Sherlock said.

"Oh Christ, can you let that go, please? I know I was not the first man you fucked on the sofa arm," John said, looking up at him.

"Well, you were, smartie pants. On the arm, I mean," Sherlock said. "But I will stop talking about it."

John leaned on his arm again. "You're the only person I've ever wanted to see again."


	9. Why Has This Happened?

Sherlock smiled as he unlocked the flat's door. Once they were inside, he turned to John and said, "Will you go to bed with me, please?"

"Yeah," John smiled. "Let me just change my clothes and I will meet you there." He squeezed Sherlock's hand before going up to his room. He changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth and finally came to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock went into the bathroom and then his own room. He put on his pajamas and got into bed to wait for John.

John climbed into what he was already calling his side of the bed, turning on his side to look at Sherlock. "Are we going to cuddle again?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, sliding an arm around him. "And perhaps you might want to kiss my neck again."

John leaned in and kissed his mouth first, soft and light before sliding down to his neck. He kissed and sucked lightly, wrapping his arm around Sherlock.

It was a good feeling, an unusual one. Sherlock dropped his head back a little on the pillow to give John easier access. His arm around John held a bit more tightly. He took slow, deep breaths.

John opened his mouth to taste him properly, sucking and kissing a bit more desperately. Slowly he climbed over Sherlock, straddling him as he left small marks on his neck.

"John," Sherlock said softly, "this is . . . making me want."

"Good," John murmured, unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt and kissing the newly exposed skin as he went. His hips rocked lightly against Sherlock.

John's mouth on Sherlock's chest sent shivers through him. He lifted his hands to John's arm and just held on. He noticed his own hips responding, rocking slightly against John's movements.

John opened this shirt and admired his torso, smiling up at him before dipping down to keep kissing, down to his stomach and navel.

This felt different -- not bad, in fact not bad in the slightest -- but very different to the other times Sherlock had wanted sex. He could feel himself getting hard underneath John's weight.

John wondered if Sherlock had ever had sex so slowly before. If anyone had ever had to make him hard versus just coming home with him like that. John started tugging down his pajamas and pants, kissing that skin as it was exposed as well -- over his hips and down to his groin. When he was kissing the soft hair he sat up and moved to tug them down properly. "You are gorgeous, Sherlock," he murmured, running his hands over Sherlock's hips and up his torso. 

"Take yours off as well," Sherlock said. It felt so different -- a little exposed, as sometimes Sherlock didn't even take his clothes completely off. For a second, he questioned why he was even letting John do this to him, but it just felt so good that the question left just as quickly as it had arrived.

John squirmed around until he was completely out of his own clothes, leaning down to kiss Sherlock again. He grabbed both of their cocks and stroked slowly.

"John, yes," Sherlock moaned softly. "That feels good . . . that touch." His body felt heavy, like it was sinking into the bed and John was in charge of it. 

"You don't only top, do you?" John murmured, once again moving down Sherlock's body with quick kisses and licks. 

"John, I . . ." Sherlock didn't know what to say. He had done that a long time ago, but not since. But he felt like he wanted it and he wasn't sure why. "Please . . ." he said quietly.

John nodded and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing up and down slowly with a small hum. After a few minutes he pulled off and dipped lower, licking and sucking Sherlock's balls. He pushed at Sherlock's thighs so he would spread and open his legs. He dipped even lower, flicking his tongue over Sherlock's entrance. 

"John," Sherlock said, almost a whisper. He reached to the bedside cabinet and grabbed the lube and condom box, pushing them down the bed. "Here . . . don't stop." He lay back down and took a few deep breaths.

John ignored the lube but pulled the condoms closer. He licked out at Sherlock properly, kissing and sucking and pushing his tongue into him to open him up. He rubbed Sherlock's thighs as he worked, moaning softly.  

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled. His legs moved instinctively further apart and his hips lifted slightly. He reached his hands down the bed and gripped the sheets.

When he'd stretched Sherlock a bit he pushed in one finger, pumping lightly and kissing Sherlock's inner thighs instead. As he added the second one he sat up a bit to get himself ready. He tore open the condom with his teeth, rolled it on with his free hand, and started to spread his fingers to open Sherlock for him.

"Use some lube," Sherlock whispered, rocking his hips against John's movements, ". . . it's been a long time and I'm trying not to be nervous. . . please."

"I will, love. Does this hurt?" he asked, slowing his fingers. He popped open the bottle and poured a bit on his entrance, making his fingers slide easier. Then he poured some on himself, stroking himself to spread it.

"No, it . . . feels good," Sherlock said, looking down at John. "I want you to, I want you." He dropped his head back again and concentrated on the feelings in his body, so many and so unusual.

John slowly pulled his fingers out and lined up, leaning over him and kissing up his long neck to find his mouth. As they kissed properly John slowly pushed into him, moaning at the tight heat that swallowed him.

Sherlock gasped against John's mouth -- he was so . . . full, filled by John. He tried to kiss John back but then his brain was full as well, also full of John. All he could do was say John's name over and over, though he was able to reach up and hold onto John's sides.

"You feel so good," John moaned as he seated into him. Slowly he started pulling out, starting a slow rhythm. "You're so gorgeous."

"No, you . . . it's you," Sherlock said, opening his eyes and trying to watch John's face. He had adjusted to the feeling now and was just enjoying it. "God, it feels so good, John."

John nodded, panting softly. "I want you to feel good . . . I want to make you feel good," he murmured. "Just me . . . me and you . . ."

Sherlock gripped John's sides again, his hands now moving with the thrusts of John's hips. He stretched his legs further, lifting them to change the angle. "Fuck, John, yes . . . don't stop."

"Never," John breathed, pushing into Sherlock's body. It felt amazing -- so much _more_ than the first time.

Sherlock reached down to stroke himself, which made all the feelings even more intense. "Fuck, John," he moaned, "god, please."

"I want to watch you come," he murmured, pressing kisses against his jaw and neck. "Come, love."

"Keep kissing," Sherlock said, stroking himself hard and fast now. "Please, John," he moaned. He didn't know why he kept saying please, but that's what he felt like he needed to say. So he said it again, "Please, John." He was so close.

"Come on, love," John said between kisses. "Come . . .come for me." His hips bucked wildly into Sherlock now.

"John," Sherlock called loudly and then everything properly overwhelmed him and he squeezed shut his eyes and was coming and it seemed like everything was quiet for a moment and he was gone. And then he came back, panting as if he had forgotten how to breathe. He opened his eyes and saw John moving over him. "John," he said again more quietly.

"Sherlock," John whispered before he came hard. He groaned and called out, arching over Sherlock. He stopped breathing, falling onto him when it was over. He was panting and murmuring his name over and over.

"John Watson," Sherlock said into John's hair. "What have you done to me? Why do you make me feel this way?" He squeezed his arms around John.

John couldn't answer, swallowing as he tried to catch his breath.

Sherlock just lay with John breathing heavily on him. How had everything changed so much in just a few days? And why did all these new things feel so right, feel like home? Sherlock moved a hand up to John's head and tangled his fingers in his hair.

"That was incredible," John murmured. He knew he should move, pull out and get off of Sherlock who was panting like him. But he couldn't -- he never wanted to move away from him again.

Sherlock wiggled himself just a bit. "John . . . I need to move a little," he felt John slip from him as he moved a little to the side. But he kept his hand on John's head, still touching him. "Don't go, though, don't leave," he said quietly.

"Let me take care of this," he murmured. He got up and tied off the condom, tossing it in the bin before climbing onto Sherlock. "I'm not going anywhere," he said softly.

"Don't leave," Sherlock said, pressing his face into John's neck. "Not Friday . . . just stay here always . . . with me."

"I will," John agreed easily.

"Why?" Sherlock said. "Why has this happened?" He held John close to him.

"I don't know," John answered softly. "It's all happened so fast but I'm so grateful."

"It's like we belong together -- is that why this has happened?"

John smiled and nodded against him. "Yeah. I think that's exactly why this happened."

"It seems unlikely," Sherlock said, still petting John's head. "But there doesn't seem to be a logical explanation otherwise."

"Don't question it," John smiled. "Just keep doing that." He settled against Sherlock comfortably.

Sherlock kept at John's hair. "If you make me like all this, please don't take it away from me."

John held him a bit tighter as he let those words sink in. The gravity of the fact that Sherlock really didn't do this sort of thing and he was doing it now for John settled in his chest. This would be his life now as long as Sherlock would have him and he liked that thought very much. "I won't ever take it away," he promised.

"If you ever change your mind, though, you must tell me -- don't let me come home and you're gone," Sherlock said, his voice wavering a little. "But let's not talk about that now." He moved to kiss John softly on the mouth. "You'll be here when I wake up, right?"

"Yes," John assured him. "Are you comfortable like this, with me on top of you?"

"Not really," Sherlock said smiling stupidly, "but I just want you to be as close as possible."

"I can curl up next to you so you don't suffocate," John smiled.

"All right," Sherlock said, as they shifted themselves. He pulled himself tight against John. "Good night, John Watson," he said softly.

"Good night, Sherlock." John couldn't stop smiling as he waited for sleep, looking over at Sherlock until his eyes finally drooped from exhaustion.

Sherlock fell asleep knowing that when he woke up again, everything in his life would be different.


End file.
